


Lion's Roar

by smallburrito



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bread, F/F, Government Conspiracy, Implied/Referenced Animal Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lions, Murphy is an Ass, September 11 Attacks, circus AU, jasper and monty might be gay? who knows, please comment - I need validation, sword swallowing, the secret service because why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:30:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallburrito/pseuds/smallburrito
Summary: Confronted with shocking truths about her past, Clarke Griffin has no choice but to run away. It just so happens she chooses the one week the circus is in town - and the rest is up to fate.





	1. The Escape Artist

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so I came up with this idea last week and if it gets some attention then I'll post more! Cheers!

The rain was intense, hammering the solid ground like an endless shower of bullets in the otherwise empty night. As they hit the slick and shiny sidewalk, the drops shattered into tiny diamond-like shards beneath the streetlights’ lonely glow. A dark figure trudged through the blackness, boots splashing through the endless montage of puddles, head bowed against the biting wind. She avoided the lights, clearly not wanting to be seen. Her breathing was fast; an allegro panting against the incessant backbeat of the thundering downpour. This was real, this was it. There was nothing left for her back home: she was leaving, and she was never going back.

All those years she’d believed what her mother said, just like the rest of the world still believed the inherently flawed stories told by the media. But now she had to face the truth. The illusion was gone; the facade destroyed. Everyone in this world was full of lies. Nobody could be trusted. She was on her own.

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance and the girl froze in fear. Were they looking for her already? Had they been so quick to realize that she was gone? The headlights, shining like unblinking golden eyes in the wild darkness, came closer. She held her breath, waiting. The vehicle drove past, its tires sending a cascade of water in all directions, far too fast to possibly be hunting her down. The girl exhaled with relief. For now, at least, she was safe.

A year ago, a month ago, or even a week before, she never would have expected this of herself. Never would have expected she’d climb out her bedroom window in the dead of the night - especially in such inclement weather - with only a small bag of now-soaked possessions and the clothes on her back, never to return. But given the day’s revelations, it was the only option she had. She couldn’t have stayed there; couldn’t have lived with the liar, the traitor, the killer that was her mother. Who cared if it was for the so-called greater good? Who cared if he was going to die anyway? Her mother had no right to do what she did, and it was unforgivable. That’s why the girl had to leave. That, and the fact that for all she knew - she could be next.

She’d been waiting for nearly an hour now, raining the whole time, and was now on the outskirts of town. There were few houses here - the landscape was gradually transitioning into farmland now - and every residence she did pass was a lifeless, lightless shadow. Whether the storm had caused power cuts or everyone was simply asleep, she didn’t know.

At the next streetlight she took the risk of stepping into the illuminated circle to look at the smudged writing on her hand; to check it matched up with the addresses around her. It was only another mile or so. Only a mile to her new home - that is, if they would take her in. The sidewalk ended, concrete turning to mud beneath her already waterlogged feet, but still she trudged onward. What a lucky coincidence that the need to escape arose the one week of the year that a perfect solution just happened to be in town. Not long after, she saw a faint light on the horizon. Her face lit up in hope; in excitement - not that one could see it though, it was so dark. Coming closer, the ambiguous light source evolved into a silhouetted landscape of tents and caravans, windows emitting a warm, inviting glow. This was it. The girl veered away from the roadside, cutting across a muddy field toward the camp.

The first tent she passed was dark and smelled of horses - no point knocking there. Instead, she made a beeline for the largest, grandest caravan (not that any of them were exactly “grand” per se) and stood in front of it, taking a moment to compose herself. “ _Kane’s Olde-Fashioned Circus”_ read the decal on the caravan’s side. The girl took a deep breath and knocked.

The door was answered by a young man in a faded black suit, who straightened the scarlet bow tie around his neck whilst observing the unexpected visitor. His hair was a shaggy brown, his ethnicity something the girl standing out in the rain couldn’t quite put her finger on. Too numb from the frigid rain to form coherent thoughts, she just shivered and stared, clearly waiting for the man in the caravan to speak first. He obliged.

“So,” he said a little awkwardly, “you here for any particular reason, or am I just supposed to watch you drown out there?”

The girl violently shook her head in both a denial of the latter option and to clear her face of the still-accumulating raindrops, her long blonde hair - the color just visible by the caravan’s soft glow of light - sending water flying in all directions. She remained silent except for the chattering of her teeth. The rain pounded on.

“Come in,” said the man in the suit. “No fireplace or hot chocolate to warm you up, but a cheap heater and an instant coffee’ll have to do.”

The girl nodded, teeth still click-click-clicking from the cold, and stepped up into the caravan. The man shut the door and gestured for the girl to sit down on a worn-looking blue-grey couch beside the door. There was a bed wedged into one end of the caravan, and a tired yet homely 1970s-era kitchen filled the other. The man headed for the kitchen and began to boil the kettle. He opened a cupboard and produced two mugs and a jar of coffee. Beside the couch, a modest space heater was humming away: presumably, the cheap heater to which the bow tie man had been referring. The girl went to lower her shivering form onto the couch but stopped short.

“Are you s-s-sure I can s-s-sit here?” she shivered. “I’m all wet. Wouldn’t want to ruin your c-c-couch.”

The man shook his head and smiled sympathetically.

“It’s only rain. And you look like you could do with somewhere soft to sit. You want milk in your coffee? Sugar?”

“Thank you and yes, both please.” the girl said gratefully. “My name’s Clarke, by the way,” she added as the man finished making the coffees. He handed her one of the two ceramic mugs he held; blue with a black rim, glaze cracked from years of use, filled with coffee the way she’d requested. She took a sip, the smooth drink making its way down her throat and warming her chilly insides. The man held out his hand to Clarke. She shook it.

“I’m Bellamy,” he said. “So what brings you here, in the middle of nowhere, in the pouring rain, at” - he paused to glance at the watch on his wrist - “two twenty-three AM?” Bellamy stared at Clarke inquisitively, awaiting an answer. She downed another swig of coffee and took a deep breath.

“I want to join your circus.”


	2. The Opening Act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry it's been so long! Travel, school, Christmas - I've just been so busy! anyway, here's Part Two. Enjoy! :)

“Well…” Bellamy’s gaze drifted up toward the ceiling as he thought about this.  “It’s not exactly _my_ circus. I’m only the assistant ringmaster. I’ll have to take this up with Kane in the morning, but could I ask you a question first?” 

Clarke was slightly surprised that this well-dressed, professional-sounding guy wasn’t actually in charge as she’d presumed, but she nodded her consent anyway and Bellamy continued. “I don’t want to sound rude, but do you actually have any… talents?”

Clarke faltered, not expecting such an interrogation. She’d left in such a spontaneous rush that she hadn’t even considered the possibility of there being any kind of interview process. 

“Any talents at all, or just, like, specific circus talents?” she queried in what was a twofold attempt to acquire context and buy a little extra time to come up with a (moderately professional, at least) response. 

Bellamy sighed, looking sympathetically at the bedraggled Clarke, clearly sensing the fact that he’d caught her well and truly off guard. “Either. Both. Just tell me what you can do and I’ll try my best to spin it to Kane in a way he’ll take you in. Fire away.”

“I’m okay at art, I guess,” she began a little shyly, and he could tell by the echoes of suppressed pride in her voice that this was definitely an underestimation. “I’m good with animals, and I’ve been told I have strong leadership skills?” She let the her voice rise into a question as if to ask confirmation of whether a three-trait list was sufficient. Bellamy nodded distractedly, scratching his chin, thinking.

“I think we can make something of that,” he decided, face unfolding into a soft and caring smile,  “but right now I think we should both get some sleep. You look exhausted. Take the couch. I haven’t got any extra blankets, but you can use my coat.” 

“Thank you,” said Clarke gratefully, finishing her coffee and smiling at the assistant ringmaster, who had opened the caravan’s [small] closet and was perusing its contents presumably in search for the aforementioned coat. “Thank you so much.”

****

By sunrise the storm had subsided, leaving in its wake a scattering of puddles across the field. Still and silent, each gave a perfect reflection of the silvery sky above. The still-damp grass gave off a rich, earthy smell that found its way into every corner of every tent and was all but inescapable. The only sounds were the distant hum of engines on the highway, the croaky chorus of a hundred hidden frogs, and the occasional quacking and whistling as ducks emerged from the woods to dredge the puddles for worms stirred up by the heavy rain. There was a sense of rejuvenation in the air.

Clarke awoke to scattered beams of sunlight streaming in through the cobweb-laced window above the caravan’s tiny sink, illuminating the millions of particles of dust suspended in the still air. She cast her eyes around the room in search of some sort of timepiece, and found an ancient-looking alarm clock residing on the wood veneer table. It was just after nine, and Bellamy was nowhere to be seen. There appeared to be a note of some kind stuck to the refrigerator.

She rose from the couch, stretched, and wandered over to examine the note. 

 

_Clark ~_

_Sorry I’m not here. There’s bread in the big cupboard. Make yourself some breakfast and then feel free to wander around and meet the rest of the crew. I’ll find you later to discuss your position._

_~ Bellamy._

 

Clarke turned to the aforementioned cupboard, tugging the plastic handle to open it. The door was tight - most likely it had expanded from the humidity that came with the rain - and the cupboard jerked open, standing Clarke stumbling backward. Bellamy wasn’t kidding when he said there was bread in there: she counted at least seven loaves of the stuff, in various flavours, and the cupboard contained nothing else. Was he some kind of freakish bread hoarder? She’d definitely have to ask him for an explanation.

Hunger, however, won out over curiosity at this moment, and she resolved to put the question aside for later. She decided on an already-sliced loaf she guessed was wholemeal, and devoured four slices. Until faced with something to eat, Clarke hadn’t realised just how hungry she really was. The bread was actually really nice - possibly homemade, she thought, although how one managed to find time to bake bread whilst running a circus was beyond her. She added that to the fast-growing list of questions she had for Bellamy about his bread.

Afterwards she grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair where it had been slung the previous night to dry, pulled it on, and headed outside. Although the sun was shining, the air was still and crisp in the way that winter mornings often are. Now that it was light, Clarke could see that the tents and caravans of the circus seemed to be arranged systematically, like a well-planned village. The main tent, the big top, was off to the left. The caravans were arranged in two rows, facing inwards and forming a laneway of sorts between the big top’s back entrance and the cluster of smaller animal and rehearsal tents at the other end of this residential strip. The majority of the caravans were small, faded, and would have looked at home at one of those vintage car fairs, but amongst these retro relics, Clarke observed a huge, modern, top-of-the-line RV. It stuck out like a socialite in a soup kitchen, and she deduced that it must have belonged to Kane. This deduction was proven correct when, as she passed by it on her way to the big top, she noticed a sign on its’ door that read “Ringmaster”  in a rather extravagant font.

The air inside the massive tent was warmer, but not by much. The ring itself was empty, and Clarke was beginning to think that she was alone in the tent when she suddenly heard a cough from above. She looked up and saw a woman hanging from the trapeze by one hand, staring at the newcomer. The woman cleared her throat again. She had dark hair, and a geometric pattern of thin, raised scars crisscrossed her frowning face.

“Who are you?” spat the woman on the trapeze, continuing to glare at Clarke.

Taken aback, Clarke simply stared at her, not expecting to encounter such a hostile personality so soon after her initial escape.

“What, you mute or something?” sneered the woman, swinging herself off the trapeze and landing in a crouch on the slightly lower platform beside the tightrope. Clarke raised her hands in a gesture of both surrender and self-defence. “I’m - ”

“You’re the replacement, aren’t you?” snarled the acrobat. She slid down the adjoining ladder to the ground and started walking toward Clarke, not breaking eye contact the entire time. 

“I’m not sure what you - ” Clarke began, backing up until she was standing against a wooden dividing wall.

“I don’t give a shit who you are. You’ll never replace John. I hope bloody Polaris eats you alive, you fake little bitch!” The trapeze woman made a grab for Clarke’s throat, but something shiny suddenly cut through the air and stuck into the wall like a dart, stopping her in her tracks. It was a knife. 

“Quit it, Ontari.”

The pair turned simultaneously to see where the knife and the voice had come from, laying eyes on a tough-looking girl, about Clarke’s age, with straight dark hair and the nicest eyebrows Clarke had seen in a long time. She held two more knives in her left hand, identical to the one lodged in the wall. The trapeze woman - Ontari, the knife girl had called her - rolled her eyes.

“And what do you want, Octavia?” Ontari snapped.

“A lot of things, Ontari, but right now let’s just start with you not murdering Bell’s new recruit.” Octavia gave Ontari a stern look, clearly evident that the younger one was higher in whatever strange social hierarchy existed in the troupe.

Ontari went to argue, but was cut off.

“Get out,” Octavia commanded, throwing another knife into the wall, just inches from the acrobat’s face. Ontari grudgingly obliged, skulking out of the tent through the main entrance. 

Octavia then turned to face Clarke.

“Sorry about that,” the knife-thrower said, switching to a more conversational and far less intimidating tone. “Ontari Azgeda’s got some serious issues. She would’ve been out of here months ago, except it’s been borderline impossible to find someone flexible enough to take her place.”

Clarke nodded in understanding. “Who are John and Polaris?” she asked. 

Octavia sighed. “John Murphy used to be a part of the circus. He and Ontari were together. Kane fired him last year, and she’s been having trouble coping. As far as I can tell, you’re going to take on his old job.”

“What job exactly is that? And who’s this Polaris she mentioned?” 

Octavia grabbed Clarke by the wrist, smiled, and pulled her toward the door. 

“Let me show you.”


	3. Admission

Octavia led Clarke out of the big top, past the caravans, and toward the scatter of small canvas tents on the camp’s far side.

“Where are you -” Clarke started to ask, but Octavia cut her off.

“Shh, just wait and see,” she grinned.

Clarke shook her head in amusement. “Whatever you say.”

The girls walked past grazing horses and sleeping dogs, and came to a stop at a very square and solid-looking tent which looked like nothing more than a steel cage draped with red canvas. Clarke could see the bars showing through the material, straight lines of condensation where cage and cover met, and her heart began to race.

“Octavia…” she asked anxiously. “John’s still alive isn’t he?”

The knife girl laughed. “Of course he is! He got fired because he did something stupid. Ontari was just trying to scare you. Don’t listen to her!”

Clarke nodded silently, still not entirely convinced.

“Anyway,” Octavia continued, pulling open the tent/cage door with a flourish. “Meet Polaris.”

Inside the cage-tent, curled up in the back corner, was an enormous golden-brown lion. The beast was asleep, breathing in a rumbling snore/purr hybrid that reminded Clarke of a lawnmower.

“Wow,” she breathed. She’d never seen one this close before.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” smiled Octavia, placing a hand on Clarke’s shoulder as she admired the big cat. The blonde just nodded, still lost for words.

“You looking forward to working with him?” the knife-thrower asked. She frowned, a distant look in her eyes, clearly thinking of something unpleasant. “I’m sure you’ll do a better job than Murphy did.”

“Um, Octavia,” Clarke began. “What exactly did-”

Octavia held up a hand to stop her. “He’s waking up!” she whispered. Clarke looked over to the lion, who had indeed begun to stir. She watched in fascination.

Polaris flicked his tail before slowly opening his eyes and looking sleepily around the room. His gaze settled on Clarke and he let out a low, rumbling sigh.

Cautiously, Clarke began to approach him. One hand outstretched, the walked towards it, keeping eye contact the entire time. The beast didn’t retreat.

“Hey,” she said softly, kindly, beckoning the creature closer in a manner that one would generally reserve for a more stereotypically domesticated animal - a dog perhaps. The lion rose and padded softly across the floor towards the girl with no signs of aggression whatsoever. Was this a result of kindness from other handlers, or had it been scared or beaten into submission on some previous occasion? She hoped it was the former, but something told her otherwise.

Now the lion was standing, she could see that he had a scar on the other side of his face, a long red gash that had missed his eye by only millimetres. From Clarke’s limited experience helping her mother in the practice, she could tell the injury had been fairly recent.

She looked over to Octavia. “Did John…?” she asked.

Octavia nodded solemnly. “Sword. Stolen. We’re not sure why. Murphy got fired the very second Kane found out. God, he was furious.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke whispered, turning back to the big cat and reaching her hand out to pet the feline. “I’ve been hurt too. I know how you feel.” The lion leaned into her, pressing its face against her open palm, and purred.

“Wow,” said Octavia, applauding, a look of awe and surprise plastered across her usually condescending face. “Bell was right, you really are some kind of cat whisperer. I’m impressed.”

Stroking Polaris like a house-cat as if to prove her point, Clarke responded. “I guess so. Probably comes from the fact I spent most of my free time as a kid shut inside the house where my only friends were the cats,” she said coldly, detachedly.

Octavia nodded, not really sure what to say to this, then glanced at her watch.

“Anyway,” she said hurriedly, clearly wanting to direct the subject away from any angsty backstory Clarke might have been about to launch into, “You’re definitely fit for the job. I think it’s time for you to meet Kane.”

The girls left the lion tent, locking the door securely behind them, and with Octavia in the lead made a beeline for Kane’s RV. Octavia knocked sharply on the door three times.

“Kane!” she yelled at the still-closed door when there was no immediate response.

“Coming, coming!” came a voice from inside the RV, followed by various thumping and clattering sounds as Kane presumably tripped over something or knocked something off a shelf. Eventually the door opened to reveal a friendly-looking middle-aged man, the black hair atop his head surprisingly well-groomed considering the fact he appeared to be wearing only a bathrobe.

“This Clarke chick’s fucking incredible, you’ve got to hire her!” Octavia said, before Kane had even had a chance to open his mouth and greet them.

“I’m not that-” Clarke tried to argue, but Octavia slapped her hand to shut her up.

“Dude, you were like Cesar friggin’ Millan with that lion! When Bell texted me and told me you’d shown up on his doorstep I had my doubts at first, but he said he saw potential and damn was he right.”

Clarke blushed, and turned back to Kane, tentatively offering a hand for him to shake.

“Hi Mr Kane,” she said, trying to exude some air of professional reservation despite her new friend’s preference of colloquial gusto. “I’m Clarke, and I suppose I’m here to apply for the position of lion tamer - that is, unless you’ve got any other roles that need filling more urgently. I’m happy to take on whatever you decide to delegate me.”

Kane accepted the handshake, and gestured for Clarke to come inside.

“From what Octavia and Bellamy have said about you, I think that you’ll be fantastic in the lion taming role. However there are, I believe, a few legalities we have to sort out first.” Clarke nodded warily, crossing the threshold into the ringmaster’s travelling home.

Kane looked at Octavia. “You can leave now,” he said. Octavia nodded in understanding and did so, closing the door behind her. Clarke and Kane were now alone. The latter moved to sit down on a brown leather couch against the wall, beckoning for the former to follow.

“So, you’re a runaway I presume?” Kane began, getting straight to the point.

“Yes, I -” Clarke faltered. “Don’t make me go back, please!” she begged, her muscles tensing and the pupils of her sky-blue eyes beginning to dilate with fear.

Kane placed a sympathetic hand on Clarke’s shoulder.

“I’d never do that. I know that people don’t just run away for no reason, that there must be something you really don’t want to return to. We’ve got other people like you here, don’t worry. I’m not asking this so I can send you back, I’m asking so I can stop them from finding you.”

Clarke was surprised. “Really?” she asked.

Kane nodded. “Yes, really.”

Clarke smiled weakly.

“So is there anything else I need to know? Is there anyone after you? Any crimes to your name? You a proper fugitive or just a missing person?”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “No, no, I’m - I haven’t done anything,” she said hurriedly.

Kane pondered this for a few seconds and nodded in understanding.

“Alright then. Standard procedure. We’ll relocate today, get you a stage name, tell the others you’re not to be outed. I’ll tell them now. See you in the big top in five.”

Clarke rose, shook Kane’s hand once more, and left.

It wasn’t a lie, that she was innocent, but it wasn’t the full story either. She had information. Information that, if it got out, could turn the world as she knew it upside down. Even if her mother didn’t send someone to hunt her down, Clarke was almost certain that the government would. There were people out there who would do absolutely anything to prevent the truth from getting out.


	4. Vanishing Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took forever and I'm sorry. Enjoy.

By the time Clarke reached the big top, a moderate crowd of people had already amassed inside. Octavia was there, and so was Ontari, staring daggers at Clarke from the back of the group. Octavia stood next to a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man - from the way they looked at each other, Clarke guessed the pair were most likely romantically involved. A sudden movement drew her attention and she saw Bellamy standing to the side, beckoning for her to join him.

“I got the job,” she grinned, moving over to stand near her friend.

“Congratulations,” Bellamy replied, feigning surprise at this outcome.

“Must’ve been because you put in a good word for me,” Clarke smirked. He laughed.

“I’ve got a question for you, though,” she continued, her tone changing to one of intellectual curiosity.

“And what might that question be?” Bellamy said, eyebrows raised.

“What on earth is with all that bread?” exclaimed Clarke, struggling not to laugh. Someone else appeared to have the same problem: the young woman standing behind Bellamy - tall, lean, caramel-skinned and seemingly about his age - let out a hearty guffaw.

“You just left her to make her own breakfast with no explanation whatsoever for the six tonnes of bread you’ve got in that kitchen?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “She probably thinks you’ve got, like, a bread fetish or something!”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “It’s your fault, Raven,” he chuckled, shaking his head in mock disapproval. Clarke sensed that there was definitely something going on between these two as well. Was that what happened in circuses, she wondered? Did everyone just date each other?

Raven frowned theatrically. “It’s not like I ask my gran to send three loaves of bread by express post every Thursday.” she said defensively.

“Well you don’t exactly do anything to stop her,” said Bellamy, grinning matter-of-factly.

Clarke’s eyes widened in understanding: the mystery of the bread was finally solved.

“Anyway,” Bellamy clapped his hands together. “Clarke, this is Raven, she’s our fire eater and resident engineer; Raven, this is Clarke, she’s going to be taking on Murphy’s old job as lion tamer.” Both girls nodded in acknowledgement and shared a firm handshake.

Bellamy continued to identify the rest of the ensemble.

“That’s Octavia, she’s a knife thrower.” He pointed to Octavia.

Then to the guy next to her. “That’s Lincoln, he’s our strongman.”

“Those two clowns over there - literally, they’re clowns - are Jasper and Monty.” Raven clarified, drawing Clarke’s attention to a pair of young men having an animated discussion about something or other. Jasper was tall and lanky, with unkempt black hair and a pair of ski goggles perched on his head. Monty was shorter, Asian, and looked to Clarke like he wouldn’t be out of place in an emo-leaning k-pop band.

“The sulky one’s Ontari, she does trapeze and all that,” Bellamy pointed to the acrobat, her arms crossed and a sullen look on her scarred face.

Then he turned to look at the final unidentified performer, a woman not much older than Clarke, standing by herself in the corner. She was tall and lean with long, dark hair, and her forest-green eyes darted toward the floor when she noticed Clarke watching her.

“That’s Lexa,” Bellamy explained. “Until you showed up she was the newest recruit. Sword swallower. She’s a runaway too.”

Clarke nodded in recognition, and looked like she was about to say something in reply, but stopped as everyone turned to face the front of the tent. Kane had arrived and was standing on a stage of sorts, ready to address them.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” began Kane.

“Don’t forget those who don’t identify as either!” came a call from the crowd, and Clarke turned to see Monty slap Jasper on the arm and begin chiding him with a pointed finger. She wondered if those two were perhaps dating too.

Kane cleared his throat, and attention turned back to the ringmaster.

“Whilst I’m aware that the gender binary is a social construct,” he sighed, “I will continue to utilise it in the openings of my various speeches out of sheer tradition.

“Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Ladies and gentlemen, we have with us today a new member of the company. Please welcome Clarke.” - He beckoned for her to join him up on stage. Blushing slightly, she obliged, drawing a round of scattered applause. Ontari didn't clap, instead choosing to acknowledge her with an exaggerated eye-roll, but the others - including Lexa - seemed genuinely pleased for her.

“As you may know,” continued Kane, “earlier this year we… lost… one of our performers, and we’ve since been stuck with a lion and no lion tamer. From today, Clarke here is going to take on that role.” There was a general murmuring amongst the crowd.

Kane put one hand up in a gesture to quieten his audience. “Unfortunately due to the circumstances in which Clarke came to us, we’re going to have to relocate as soon as possible. We haven’t got any more shows scheduled here, so I say we strike camp now and leave tonight.”

Those whom had not properly met Clarke began whispering to one another, tones of excitement and curiosity evident in the hushed syllables. She noticed that Lexa wasn’t talking to anyone, and that those piercing green eyes seemed to be coyly observing her once again. Kane dismissed the performers, who began filing out the tent’s gaping doors to begin travel preparations, and turned to face his new recruit.

“Now, Clarke,” he began in a tone both friendly and professional at the same time, “I would have offered you a place in my car for the trip, but unfortunately Raven’s got torched last week so I’m stuck with her and Bellamy until she gets a new one.” Clarke nodded to show she was following.

“As a result of that,” Kane continued, “I’ve arranged for you to ride with Lexa. She’s a sword swallower, fairly new here herself, about your age. I reckon you two’ll get along pretty well. If you wanna go grab anything your stuff from Bell’s van, he’ll help you find her so you can get acquainted.”

Clarke nodded again. “Is that everything I need to know?” she asked.

“That’s all for now,” said Kane. “And once again, I’m incredibly grateful you’ve joined us. You really did arrive just at the right time. I hope that whatever brought you here leaves you alone after today, because you deserve to be happy. Everyone does.” His eyes narrowed as he gave some thought to that last statement. “Well, most people do.” Clarke presumed he was talking about her predecessor, Murphy, when he said that.

“Thanks Mr Kane,” said Clarke as she turned to exit the tent and find Bellamy. After what both he and Kane had said, she was actually quite excited to meet this mysterious sword-swallowing girl. She had her suspicions that Lexa was looking forward to meeting her too.

When Clarke got back to the trailer, she found Bellamy attempting to hitch it to a dark blue Subaru Outback. He seemed to be struggling quite a bit with this - a perplexed and frustrated look was etched on his face, and sweat soaked his shaggy fringe despite the stubborn chill that still laced the crisp winter air.

“Hey,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder. Startled, he gave a slight flinch.

“Who’s Kane got you carpooling with?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his face with his forearm.

“Lexa,” said Clarke. “Any idea where I’d be able to find her?”

Bellamy scratched his head. “Ah, well, this is her car,” he gestured to the Outback, “so she shouldn’t be too far off. In fact she was just here a few minutes ago.”

“Hm. If this is her car,” said Clarke, “how come you’re hooking your caravan up to it? Doesn’t she have one of her own? How does that work?”

“Nah, Kane offered to buy her one but she turned him down. She pretty much lives in the car. Prefers it, it seems. I think she was used to sleeping rough before she came here.”

Clarke nodded in understanding, and took a step closer to the Outback so that she could peer into the window. It was clear that the owner slept there, but also that they took great pride in appearances. The back seats had been folded down, rendering the car a 2-seater, and the rear of the vehicle contained a grey suitcase, a cardboard box filled with what seemed to be an assortment of swords, and a bed made with military precision. The only item not seemingly meticulously organised was a book that lay open on the bed, probably strewn there haphazardly as the owner hurried to make it to Kane’s meeting. Clarke squinted at it, trying to read make out the title. It was The Price of Salt.

“Bit of a stickybeak, are you?” came a voice from behind. Clarke turned around in shock and came face to face with Lexa, who was holding a large spanner and wearing a cocky yet gentle grin. Bellamy stifled a laugh.

“I’m sorry,” stuttered Clarke, “I was just – ”

“Curious?” finished Lexa. “Yeah, it’s fine.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “As for you,” - she turned to Bellamy - “this might help a little.” She handed him the spanner. “Raven said you grabbed the wrong one before.”

Bellamy’s eyes widened in realisation of his mistake as he reached out a grease-stained hand to take the spanner. He then examined a similar tool which he had been holding in the other hand. “That’ll explain why it didn’t fit.” With a sheepish grin he returned to the task of attaching the trailer, leaving the two girls alone.

“Thanks for offering to take me in your car,” said Clarke.

“Who said I offered?” replied Lexa apathetically. “For all you know, Kane could’ve held me at gunpoint and told me to take you on or else.”

“Sorry,” Clarke began hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to -”

“Let’s get moving,” Lexa interrupted, a look of businesslike determination in her emerald eyes. “Twenty-four hours ‘til they can file a missing persons report, and you’re already halfway there. We’ve gotta get all these tents down and be out of town by the time that happens.”

Clarke was taken aback. “How did you know I -”

“Ran away?” finished Lexa. Clarke nodded.

“Takes one to know one. And by the way,” she added, smiling slyly. “I did volunteer.”


	5. The Show Must Go On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sOrry I took so long to update, exams have been pretty hectic and also writers block I guess? Anyway, here's the next part! Enjoy!

“Trips like this are normally pretty lonely,” sighed Lexa, taking her eyes off the road for a few seconds to shoot Clarke a friendly smile. They were seated in the Outback, Lexa driving and Clarke riding shotgun, and they’d been on the road for about half an hour. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to for a change.”

The winding country road along which they were travelling was dark and devoid of all other signs of life. Considering the time, it made sense. The convoy had left just before sunset: a montage of cars, caravans, Kane’s RV, and a single 18-wheeler containing the tents, props, and animals, driven by Lincoln. GPS courses were set for their proposed new residence in Arkadia, a small town in Texas. Lexa wasn’t exactly fond of driving on the interstates, so she and Clarke were taking a slightly more scenic route.

Kane had explained that they travelled through the night for many reasons: less traffic, less chance of Clarke (or any other fugitives and/or runaways) being spotted, and the animals generally slept through the journey. Aside from Polaris the lion, Octavia had two horses, and Monty and Jasper’s act featured a sea lion named Gerald.

“I can see why you’d feel lonely,” replied Clarke, turning the car radio down slightly. Lexa had it tuned to what seemed to be an Australian rock station, which Clarke found relaxing if a little distorted by the static of being so isolated. “How come you travel alone then?” she asked.

“No choice, really.” Lexa shrugged. “The others are all pretty much paired off, and as you can see I don’t exactly have room for three in here.”

Clarke laughed. “Yeah, I noticed that. What about Ontari? She doesn’t exactly seem like the kind to be joined at the hip to anyone here.”

Lexa grimaced. “In some cases, I think loneliness is the better option. I don’t trust that girl.”

“Neither,” agreed Clarke. “Also, by ‘paired off’, do you mean, like, always romantically? Like, are Monty and Jasper…?”

Lexa laughed so hard that her hands slipped on the wheel and the car swerved - it was probably for the best that they were avoiding the interstate. “God, those two? Pretty sure they’re just your typical straight best mates - but honestly I don’t blame you for wondering. They definitely seem to give off some homoerotic vibes sometimes, but what can you expect? They’re clowns, they’re jokers. They joined up for a laugh in their gap year and never left. That’s just their kind of humour.”

Clarke nodded in understanding. “It’s not the best that they treat it as a joke, yeah, but I suppose it's better than being outwardly homophobic?”

“Hm, true,” Lexa admitted. “Even if it is more than just a joke, I can understand why they’d be playing it off as one. Some of the things Ontari’s said… I wouldn’t feel safe being out here either.”

“Oh my god, that’s terrible!” said Clarke. “What kind of stuff did she say?”

“Just shit about the fact that 'those people’ shouldn’t be able to get married, have children, all that.”

“Wow, that sucks. Do you think she realises how much she’s hurting you?”

“No,” said Lexa coldly. “If she did, then she’d say things a lot worse.” Then she realised something. “But hang on - how did you know I was -”

“The book,” admitted Clarke, a sheepish smile creeping across her face.

“The book?” queried Lexa, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t think any straight girl in history has ever read _The Price of Salt_ , Lexa.”

“Jeez, you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?” 

Clarke grinned. 

Lexa thought for a moment. “And you wouldn’t know that unless…you’ve read it too, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Clarke smiled. “Although I was hardly the type to leave something so incriminating lying around in my car. I stole it from the library and kept it in the dust-jacket of a dictionary. Ah, the efforts we go to to stay closeted.”

Lexa laughed. “I can’t believe it,” she said, more to herself than to Clarke, eyes focused on the road ahead. “A cute girl suddenly appears in my life, and for once it turns out she’s not straight.”

Clarke turned a deep shade of red and turned up the radio volume to avoid the awkwardness of having to respond.

All of a sudden Clarke’s phone went off, announcing the arrival of a text message. A sense of dread and guilt creeping over her, she pulled the device out of her pocket to see who and what it was. 

“ _Shit,”_ Clarke breathed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lexa, concerned. “Are you ok?”

“It’s my mother. Something’s happened.”

“What’s the message say?”

“It just says to come home, and to call her, but she’s got emojis at the end of it. She never does that. Told me that if she ever did to disregard everything in the message because she was sending it under duress.”

“Wow,” said Lexa, a little overwhelmed. “That’s an awful lot of thought she put into that plan. She must be pretty paranoid about something.”

“When your late husband was heartlessly executed,” - Clarke’s voice started to crack -  “for planning to expose government secrets, you can’t really afford to be anything else.”

“Shit,” said Lexa. “I’m so sorry.” She put a hand on Clarke’s knee in a small attempt to comfort her. Clarke was sobbing now. She took Lexa’s hand in her own and held it tight. “Do you think they’ve come for her too?” the sword swallower asked.

Clarke shook her head. “And the worst part,” she added, “the worst part is that not only did they kill Dad, but they only did it because _she_ sold him out. She killed him. She killed him for the sake of a stupid _fucking_ document!”

Lexa pressed her foot down harder on the accelerator, and the car made a revving sound as it sped up.

“That’s awful,” she said, a sense of anger leeching into her own voice. “How could anyone do that?”

“I don’t know,” said Clarke, her tone still raw, staring out the window into the abyss of the lonely night. “When they took him away, years ago, I just thought they’d been spying or something, or that maybe there was a mistake. Then when I found out what really happened… I didn't know what to think, how to feel. It was so overwhelming. I was sad, angry, confused…”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” asked Lexa softly. The anger was gone, replaced by a calm concern. “You had to get away from her.”

Clarke nodded silently.

“Kane’s a good guy,” Lexa said kindly, absentmindedly stroking the soft skin of the blonde girl’s hand in a reassuring and somewhat affectionate way. “He won’t let her find you, won’t let her take you back. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Thanks,” said Clarke. “Seriously, thanks. I don’t think anyone’s said that to me in a long time.”

“I haven’t said it to anyone in a long time either.” The two girls looked at each other, a pair of weak but hopeful smiles, barely visible in the fraction of light that reached the cabin from the headlights. The very same smile that felt so foreign on Clarke’s own face seemed on Lexa’s like the most beautiful thing in the world. Reluctantly, Lexa returned both hands to the wheel. Clarke leaned back and closed her eyes.

***

Clarke must have fallen asleep at some point because when she opened her eyes she could see the lights of a small town on the horizon. The clock on the dashboard read ten minutes to midnight, and INXS’s _Never Tear Us Apart_ was playing on the radio. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. 

“Where are we?” she asked. 

“Halfway there,” Lexa said. “Only five hours to go.”

Clarke laughed tiredly. “I meant where _geographically_ , not temporally.”

“Ooh, big words,” teased Lexa. “You’re too smart for me. But it seems like we’re nearly in…” - she strained her eyes to read a road sign that the car’s headlights had just revealed - “Mount Weather. You hungry?”

“Hungry?” repeated Clarke, perplexed, still half asleep. “Lexa, it’s midnight. No sensible person eats at this time!”

Lexa turned to Clarke, eyebrows raised. “Are you implying that throughout your entire childhood you never, not once, embraced the concept of the midnight snack?”

Clarke looked down sheepishly and shook her head. Lexa grinned.

“That’s absolutely got to change.”

The lights of Mount Weather were getting closer, and Clarke could see that it was old and small, barely a town at all. The sources of the light seemed mainly streetlights, with lights in windows and illuminated shop fronts few and far between.

“Um, Lexa?” she said.

“Hm?”

“Is anything here even going to be open this late?”

The girl behind the wheel laughed. “Don’t worry. When all else fails, there’s always a twenty-four-hour Macca’s.”

“A twenty-four hour what?” said Clarke, confused. 

“Shit, I did it again didn’t I?” sighed Lexa, briefly bringing her hand to her forehead in theatrical shame. “McDonald’s. The Australians call it Macca’s. This is what happens when you grow up with an Aussie roommate. This and my music taste.”

Clarke laughed. “It’s okay,” she said. “So, a roommate - did you go to boarding school, or?”

“Nah. Wasn’t rich enough for that. Parents died when I was three, didn’t have any relatives who could take me, so I ended up in a home.”

“Shit,” said Clarke. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. Wasn’t your fault. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m not too bothered by it these days.”

Clarke had no response to that, so she just nodded. A few minutes later they pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot, glad to get out of the car and stretch their legs. The diner’s golden-arches sign flickered on and off with a faint buzzing sound, piercing the otherwise silent night. There was only one other car in view, an old silver pickup truck illuminated by the moonlight beaming down from the cloudless sky. It felt like a ghost town, a liminal space.

“God, it’s cold,” shivered Clarke as she stepped out into the crisp, biting air. Having neglected to pack any coat aside from the rain jacket in which she’d arrived, the blonde was dressed only in jeans and a souvenir sweatshirt from a ski lodge she’d visited last year. 

Lexa, dressed more sensibly in a puffy black bomber jacket, took Clarke’s hand to see how true this was. 

“You’re freezing!” she exclaimed, letting go in shock. “Hang on, I’ve got another coat you can borrow.” She pulled the car keys from her pocket and opened the Outback’s rear hatch. Kneeling on the bed, she rifled around in the cardboard box until she pulled out a woollen olive-green coat. “Here,” she said, offering it to a shivering Clarke.

“Thanks,” said Clarke gratefully, pulling on the coat. It smelled nice, calming, like vanilla - she imagined that, were she to get close enough, Lexa herself would smell rather the same. Thinking back to what Lexa had said upon Clarke coming out to her, she wondered if perhaps she might just happen to get such an opportunity one day. The thought made her smile, and she boldly slipped her hand into the sword-swallower’s as they made their way across the deserted parking lot. She could get used to this.


	6. Walking the Tightrope

The diner was nothing fancy, lit by fluorescent tube lights that seemed to flicker ever so slightly if one concentrated on them hard enough, and was devoid of life aside from a tired-looking girl behind the counter, leaning on the cash register, seemingly reading a book. She had short, blonde wavy hair, what looked like an undercut, and didn’t so much as look up when Clarke and Lexa came through the door. She may well have been asleep. A faint sound of country music emanated from the kitchen, barely audible behind the content humming of various grillers and fryers. A tall young man with curls to rival a hobbit lay reclined across two chairs next to the drive-through window - he was _definitely_ asleep. 

Lexa knocked on the counter, and the blonde girl awoke with a start, dropping her book and scrambling to straighten her glasses before flashing the travellers a standard customer-service smile. According to the badge on her uniform, her name was Kelsea.

“Good-“ she looked at her watch “- morning. How may I help you?”

“I’ll have a-” Clarke began confidently, then faltered. What did one actually order for a midnight snack? Coffee? Nuggets? Or was this the one and only time of day at which anyone actually ordered a Fillet-o-Fish? She was well and truly stumped. “Er, how about you order first?” she suggested, glancing at Lexa. The older girl smiled back at her.

“You like nuggets?” 

“God, Lexa, of course I like nuggets! Who doesn’t like nuggets?”

“Well, my Australian roommate for one - she was a vegan. Made the mistake of buying her a rather expensive ice cream cake once so I just had to check. Come to think of it, Anya still owes me for that… Anyway -” she turned back to Kelsea, who seemed to be getting a little impatient, “We’ll have a twenty-pack of nuggs.”

Kelsea nodded, yawned, and entered the code for the nuggets into the cash register. 

“Chris!” she yelled to the hobbit-looking guy in the drive through. “I’m gonna need twenty nuggets!” 

Chris awoke with a start, and looked around in confusion. “Nuggets. Twenty. Now.” Kelsea repeated now she’d successfully captured his attention. 

“Coming right up,” he said, leaping up from his chairs and starting up the deep-fryer. 

“That all?” said Kelsea, turning back to her customers. The girls looked at each other and nodded. 

“I know we don’t usually do table service, but since business here’s slower than a tortoise in a traffic jam, you guys can take a seat and I’ll bring your order over when it’s ready”

“Thanks” smiled Lexa, reaching for her wallet but Clarke beat her to it, slapping a $5 note down on the counter. 

“Let me pay,” said the lion tamer. Lexa went to argue but Clarke cut her off. “I’m not gonna go broke over some chicken nuggets, don’t worry,” she smiled sweetly at the sword-swallower. 

The girls took a seat in a corner booth, away from the draughty doors and beneath a TV broadcasting one of the evening’s NFL games in silence, semi-accurate subtitles snaking across the screen at a faster pace than play itself. 

“So,” began Lexa with a cocky grin. “You feeling the exhilarating rush of the midnight snack experience yet?”

“Uh,” Clarke faltered. “Should I be? How do I know when I’m feeling it? What exactly about this makes it _exhilarating_?” she raised her eyebrows suggestively with that last question, as if testing the waters for the possibility of other such exhilarating experiences occurring between them.

“Look around,” said Lexa, gesturing to the hordes of empty seats that filled the dilapidated restaurant. “There’s no one else here, probably no one awake for miles around - it’s like we’re the only people in the world. We’re rebelling against the universe, playing by our own rules. Chicken nuggets weren’t made to be eaten at one in the morning, human physiology isn’t even designed for such late meals, but we’re doing it anyway. We’re breaking free. Here and now, it’s like anything is possible.”

“Hey Nietzsche, here’s your nuggets.” They looked up to see Kelsea walking towards them, bearing the nuggets on a  - was that an actual bona fide crockery plate? Clarke was unaware McDonalds even dealt in such things. Kelsea set the plate of nuggets down on the table, but that wasn’t the end of it. In her other hand she held a candle.

“Thought y’all could do with some mood lighting” - she wiggled her eyebrows with those last two words, placed the candle on the table beside the nuggets, produced a lighter from her pocket, and coaxed a flickering flame from the waxy tea-light’s blackened wick. 

“Er, you sure that’s not a safety hazard?” asked Clarke, taken aback. Lexa raised her eyebrows at Kelsea questioningly, the same query on her own mind. Kelsea grinned.

“Dude, we’re dingy little franchised diner on the outskirts of a poster-child nowhere town. Health inspections are as rare as a reindeer in a rodeo. As long as we don't give y’all food poisoning, nobody cares.”

Lexa nodded in vague understanding. “Fair enough,” she said. Kelsea made her way back to the kitchen, and not long after she disappeared the lights in the dining area grew noticeably dimmer. Probably more of that _mood lighting,_ Clarke thought. 

“So,” she said, plucking a nugget from the plate between them. “How’d you end up in the circus? You’ve already heard my tragic backstory, what about you?”

“Ah yes, interesting story there,” smiled Lexa, a mischievous glint in her emerald eyes. “I ended up in the circus because when your only employable skill is sticking sharp things down your throat and living to tell the tale, other job opportunities are rather limited. A better question would be how on earth did I get into sword swallowing.”

“Okay then,” obliged Clarke in an ever-so-slightly singsong tone, “How on earth did you get into sword swallowing? Surely that’s not a exactly a common career goal?”

“No, no it’s not,” Lexa laughed. “

“I’m listening.”

“Well, the Aussie roommate I mentioned, Anya, she was basically my sister growing up. She was four years older than me, and we’d both lost our parents in the same attack. I was maybe ten years old when we were, I can’t even remember what we were doing, fighting about something I suppose, but somehow I ended up with a ruler shoved down my throat and I was totally chill with it. I’ve got no gag reflex. Later on Anya told me I should exploit the skill, make some money of it, she said. In retrospect I now realise she was talking about prostitution, but I was a naïve and innocent child. Plus I was obsessed with magic tricks and all that jazz, so sword swallowing was the first thing that came to mind.” Lexa shrugged.

“Wow,” giggled Clarke. “That’s amazing. What made you love magic so much?”

“Ah, yes,” continued Lexa, blushing slightly (which Clarke found immensely adorable).  “You know that famous magician, Costia? I was obsessed with her back then. Looking back now it was definitely a crush but back then I was still in the oh-I’m-straight-so-I-don’t- _like_ -her-I-just-want-to-be-like-her phase. ”

“Oh boy,” Clarke stated sarcastically. “I remember _those_ days. Definitely don’t miss that part of my life.”

“You know, you’re the first person I’ve been able to tell the unabridged version of the story to. It’s nice.” 

“So you’re not out to anyone at all?”

“Only Anya, and there’s no need to tell her because she lived through it with me. Didn’t really have any other close friends. You start sticking blades down your throat at age twelve and that generally tends to scare off any potential companions.”

Clarke laughed, a stupid grin across her face. Lexa’s sense of humour was making it almost impossible not to fall for the girl.

“Well, you haven’t scared me off yet,” Clarke smiled affectionately, their hands slipping into each other’s once again.

“And I don’t plan on doing so any time soon.” Lexa’s hand gripped Clarke’s tighter. They were close now, only inches between them on the plastic seat, fingers intertwined, eyes locked, the vanilla scent Clarke had noticed on the coat was much stronger and she felt that now would be the perfect moment to close the distance between them. She leaned forward, heart racing, lips tingling in anticipation…

“The feds are coming!” Kelsea slammed her palms down on the table, causing Clarke and Lexa to jump. 

“What?” said Lexa, confused. Clarke, on the other hand, turned white. 

“We didn’t call ‘em, don’t worry,” Kelsea explained to an anxious Clarke. “Dude your face’s been plastered all over the news, I knew who you were the moment I laid eyes on you but I was hardly gonna call up the cops on you and lover girl here.”

“We’re not–” interjected Lexa, but Kelsea cut her off.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you don’t want to get caught, y’all should probably follow me.”  

“How did they even–” said Clarke once she’d gotten over the shock. They’d left the table (the nuggets were long-gone), and were trailing behind Kelsea as she led them into the kitchen.

“Tracking your phone, I’d say.”

“Shit.” They stopped in front of a big metal door with heavy-duty hinges and multiple padlocks, like something out of a science fiction film.

“You might wanna put your coats back on,” Kelsea suggested as she unclipped a keyring from her belt and set about opening the locks. The others did as advised, and as Kelsea pulled the door open a gust of cold air came whooshing out. 

“The freezer? Why does it have so many locks?” asked Clarke, confused.

“We keep the special sauce recipe in there too,” shrugged Kelsea. “Quick, get in.” Clarke and Lexa slipped into the freezer. It was dark, cold, and full of an assortment of frozen fast food.

“And give me your phone,” Kelsea added, sticking her hand out. Clarke quickly handed it over and Kelsea closed the door, leaving them in icy darkness. Within seconds of the locks being replaced, they heard a loud crash and a man’s voice yelling, telling everyone to get on the ground.  

“He sounds _angry._ You must have some pretty valuable secrets behind those pretty eyes of yours,” whispered Lexa. Clarke smiled embarrassedly in the blackness. Even now, when their freedom and potentially even their very lives were at risk, this girl still found time to flirt with her?

“We’ve reason to believe that a known fugitive is currently located at this address,” the voice continued, only just audible through the freezer’s thick steel door. “Have you seen this woman?”

Clarke’s heart raced.

“Actually, yeah, I think I did.” Clarke’s already-racing heart skipped a beat and she instinctively reached for Lexa’s hand, which she gripped tight as they continued to listen.

“Came in here a few hours ago, with her girlfriend or something. What’d they order again Chris?”

“Couple cheeseburgers to go,” Chris lied. What on earth were they trying to spin here?

“Interesting,” said the man. 

“If they left hours ago, like you say, then how come I’m still getting readings that the offender’s phone is at this location?”

Shit. So they _were_ tracking the phone. How the hell was Kelsea going to talk her way out of this?

“Another customer found this phone left in the bathrooms, maybe it’s the one you’re looking for?” 

“Wow. She’s really thought everything through. This girl is _smart_ ,” Clarke whispered, feeling a fraction calmer. She couldn’t see Lexa nod in response, but she felt it. Despite their coats, the crispness of the freezer air was enough to persuade the pair to huddle together in an effort to conserve heat. 

“Yes, this seems to be the device in question,” the man said decidedly after a few tense minutes. “However, we’ve still got a warrant to search the building and seize any relative security tapes. Can I see the footage from those CCTV cameras?”

“Bro,” said Chris. “Those cameras haven’t operated in years. You seriously think we have the money to run those things?”

“You can address me as _sir_ , please.” growled the man. Lexa giggled at this, her breath tickling Clarke’s face as she did so.

“But fine, I see your point,” he continued. There was then a loud and prolonged clattering, most likely the man and whatever associates he had with him searching the restaurant for any sign of Clarke. 

There was a knock on the freezer door.

“ _Shit_ ,” both girls whispered, holding one another even tighter in fear. 

“What’s in here?”


	7. Roll Up, Roll Up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays y'all, sorry this is kinda late, I've never written a chapter like this before so it took a little longer than expected.   
> (note the rating change...)

“Ah yes, about that,” Kelsea said. There was another clattering sound, she seemed to be rifling through a cupboard or drawer or something. “That’s where we keep the special sauce recipe. And if you’ll see here, we’ve got a permit from Mr President himself saying that the vessel in which the recipe is kept is in fact exempt from all governmental and non-governmental searches.”

Clarke snickered. The special sauce recipe was an honest-to-god highly classified top secret document as decided by the literal president? That was ridiculous! There was a pause whilst the man presumably examined the document. 

“Very well then,” conceded the man in a cold tone. “We’ll be seizing the phone, and if you become aware of any more of the subject’s activities, let myself or my associates know immediately. Here’s my card.”

“As you wish, Agent… Connors.” replied Kelsea, most likely reading the name off of the aforementioned business card. And with the ominous sound of expensive dress shoes on a tiled floor, Connors and his colleagues absconded.

Within moments, this sound was replaced by the jingle of keys as Chris unlocked the freezer to free the fugitives. 

“Y’all are cute,” said Kelsea with a smirk when she saw the pair huddled together like penguins amidst the endless boxes of burger patties. 

“And unfortunately you’re gonna have to stick around here a little longer,” explained Chris. “Odds are they’ll be watching the premises for another twenty-four hours, so one of us’ll have to take your car ‘til then to throw ‘em off the trail.”

“Man, you guys are really fucking smart,” Lexa said, shaking her head in astonishment. “You want the keys now?”

“And can we maybe, um, you know, hang out somewhere a little less Antarctic?” suggested Clarke.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, of course,” agreed Kelsea. “Y’all can stake out in the kitchen once we lock up. And Chris’ll take your keys. He’s a better driver than me, less likely to scratch your car.” Lexa pulled the keys from her coat pocket and handed them to Chris.

“If you get hungry there’s food, well, pretty much everywhere.” Chris said helpfully. “And stay away from the windows. We don’t know how close they’re watching from, or what kind of equipment they’ve got to watch with.”

“Aren’t you guys a twenty-four hour business though?” asked Clarke, narrowing her eyes in confusion. 

“Eh, we’ll find some religious holiday to close for tomorrow.” Chris said flippantly. “Even if we have to make up a new religion. We’ve done it before, the manager’s chill.”

“The manager’s chill because she’s a raging alcoholic who’ll take any excuse not to show up before we stop serving breakfast,” Kelsea reminded him. “Anyway, you’ll be fine in the kitchen, or the manager’s office just in there,” she pointed to a wooden door to her left, still ajar from Agent Connors’ search of the premises. Through the crack it could be seen that the desk inside was itself too a mess thanks to Connors’ pursuit. Chris, who’d been looking something up on his phone, now grabbed a paper bag and a permanent marker from a shelf and scribbled a note:

_Closed this morning in recognition of World Numbat Day. Will re-open at 12pm. Sorry for inconvenience._

“See y’all tomorrow,” said Kelsea as she and Chris left the building, taping the note to the glass door before closing it behind them. Chris headed toward Lexa’s car whilst Kelsea made a beeline for the truck they’d seen earlier. Within seconds of the cars disappearing from sight, the lights flickered off on a timer and the pair were left in darkness once again.

“I guess no windows means no lights too?” Clarke queried. 

“Looks like the office doesn’t have any windows so we’d be alright to put the light on in there.” suggested Lexa. “Probably be more comfortable than sleeping on the tables too.”

“Fair point,” Clarke agreed, wandering over to the door and pushing it open before flicking on the light switch just inside. 

The room looked like a hurricane had ripped through it. The computer had been shoved onto the floor, now sporting a spiderweb of cracks that crept across its lifeless screen. A bottle of whiskey (presumably the manager’s) had been knocked over and spilled across the desk, and there was a montage of paperwork strewn everywhere - so much so that one could not even hope to discern what colour the carpet was. Even the combination safe in the corner was flung wide open, with great wads of cash spilling out.

“Looks like we’ll have to clean up a bit first,” grimaced Lexa. “You much of a housekeeper?”

Clarke laughed. “Eh, I’m not too bad. I generally tried to keep my room so you could at least see the floor. You?”

“Not by choice. The thing about living with a roommate is that you either put things away or they get stolen. Or ‘borrowed’ as Anya used to claim before I politely reminded her that borrowing _usually_ involves some intention of giving things back.”

“Pretty sure it always comes with those intentions.”

“True, true,” smiled Lexa, righting the bottle on the desk and picking up a handful of whiskey-soaked papers. “You think that the manager’ll still want these?”

“By the sounds of it she’d be more likely to lick ‘em dry than read ‘em,” Clarke replied, shovelling the money back into its heavy steel residence. Lexa dumped the papers in the (miraculously still upright) trash can in the corner of the room.

“You’re probably right.” 

“Lexa, what’s a numbat?” Clarke asked a little sheepishly. “What religion is it from?”

“Oh my god, Clarke, it’s not actually a religion!” she burst out laughing. “It’s some little stripy Australian rat thing I’m pretty sure. Legitimate religious holidays must be pretty scarce today so Chris just took what he could get.”

“Ah,” replied Clarke even more sheepishly, cheeks flushed, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment. “Sorry about that.”

“Pfft,” Lexa waved. “Don’t be sorry, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” she grinned, raising one eyebrow in a suggestive expression. This only made Clarke turn even redder. She hastily shoved more cash into the safe, not daring to look Lexa in the eye. They’d just escaped what was most likely a brush with death, and despite it being entirely Clarke’s fault Lexa was still interested in her?

“I’m not scared, you know,” the sword swallower added as if reading Clarke’s very thoughts. There was a tremulous quality to her voice, as if some kind of great excitement or anticipation lurked just below the surface.   “Just because the secret service have started chasing you doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.” Clarke turned from restocking the safe to find herself face to face with Lexa, who’d crouched down beside her and was now looking directly into her ocean-blue eyes.

“Clarke Griffin, since I arrived at this circus, you’re the only person who’s talked to me like I was a person and not some fragile artefact that could be admired but never touched for fear of shattering it into a million tiny pieces. Bell, Octavia, Raven… they all tread so carefully around me. And don’t even get me started on Ontari. But you… you’re different. Everything about you is so real, so honest - and goddammit I’ve fallen _hard_ for you.” She grabbed Clarke by the hand, standing up and pulling the blonde toward her, their lips colliding in a sudden wave of passion, a tide of longing held back by courteous professionalism now released all at once. Clarke gripped Lexa’s shoulders and kissed back with equal intensity, heart rate accelerating, heat rising in both their faces. 

“I know what you mean,” Clarke whispered in reply, pulling back momentarily to take a breath. “They did the same to me, back home. But you are worth so much more than that and I’ll stop at nothing to prove that to you.”

Lexa’s hand snaked its way up the back of Clarke’s shirt and pulled her close again. “Then don’t stop.”

The bomber jacket came off first, Clarke sliding it smoothly down Lexa’s arms and leaving her in a short-sleeved grey button-up shirt while her lips made their way toward the dark-haired girl’s neck, tongue exploring skin as the sword-swallower gasped in pleasure. In response, she began to fumble with Clarke’s sweatshirt, pulling it over her head to reveal only a blue lace bra underneath. 

“No wonder you were cold,” Lexa whispered, taking in the view. 

“Oh you’re real funny you are,” smirked Clarke, her breath tickling Lexa’s skin, which was becoming gradually more exposed as the blonde got to work unbuttoning her shirt before flinging it to the ground where it landed amongst the remaining documents.

They were both topless now, Lexa sporting a black silk sports bra which Clarke was making quick work of unclasping. “You ever done this before?” asked the sword-swallower, nimble fingers brushing Clarke’s back as she returned the favour. 

“Never,” breathed Clarke, heat rising in her face and other places as her heart rate quickened in anticipation. “You?”

Lexa shook her head. “Nah. You’ve generally got to come out to a girl before she’ll start undressing you.” 

“Don’t worry though,” said Clarke, her slender hands - artist’s hands - reaching down and unclasping Lexa’s belt in a single swift movement.  “I’ve done my research. I know what I’m doing.”

Clarke gently pushed Lexa backward toward the desk, now mostly devoid of papers. She laid the brunette on the hard wooden surface before climbing up herself, straddling the sword-swallower. Lexa gripped Clarke’s wavy blonde hair and tugged the younger girl’s face down towards her own. Clarke brought her lips to Lexa’s again, pressing harder, plenty of tongue, biting lips, a moan of pleasure from the girl pinned to the table… Wow. It all felt so natural, so instinctive - how on earth had she never taken it upon herself to kiss a girl before? 

The blonde began to move downwards, her mouth shifting to Lexa’s pale neck, sucking, biting softly, leaving a trail of small red marks on the older girl’s tender skin. Lexa moaned again, fingernails digging into Clarke’s back as she continued heading south, her attention now on the sword-swallower’s breasts, taking a nipple in her teeth and gently biting down. The heat between her legs was definitely getting stronger; she shifted her lower half so that Lexa’s thigh was positioned between Clarke’s, and she began to grind on her, lightly at first but quickly escalating in intensity. Lexa pushed back against her, and satisfied groans were soon escaping the blonde’s mouth too. 

Lexa’s hands reached for Clarke’s hands and pushed them downwards, encouraging the lion tamer to go lower, to go all the way.

“You sure?” Clarke said, panting, looking down at the sword-swallower, sweat beading on her forehead and chest.

“Please,” Lexa nodded, before reaching up to kiss the blonde hard on the lips once again.

Clarke moved backward, climbing down from the desk to kneel on the floor in front of it, where she finished the task she’d started earlier and freed Lexa of her jeans completely. Her underwear came off next - no drier than the whiskey-soaked documents that still littered the floor. Starting from the other end this time, Clarke got to work on Lexa’s thighs. Lips, teeth, tongue, all working in harmony to speckle the brunette’s legs with more red spots, eliciting gasps of excitement from the sword swallower with every inch Clarke moved up. 

When she finally reached her centre, Lexa was practically shaking with anticipation. Clarke brought her tongue to the other girl’s clit, made a gentle stroke, testing the waters. Lexa flinched - a simple reflex rather than discomfort of any kind. She gripped the edge of the table, and hooked her legs over Clarke’s shoulders to give the blonde a better angle. Clarke’s tongue returned, tracing abstract patterns across hypersensitive skin, and within seconds Lexa was gasping, on the verge of release - she’d already been so close. She pulled on Clarke’s hair, now a matted mess, and the blonde inserted one finger, two, three… And with a final, involuntary moan, Lexa’s body went stiff. Clarke carefully withdrew, climbing back up on the desk to kiss Lexa again, the brunette tasting herself on the blonde’s lips and quite enjoying the sensation. 

“So,” Clarke said, once the sword-swallower had regained her breath. “You enjoy your first time?” Lexa nodded, taking Clarke’s hand in hers and stroking it softly in a gesture of affection. 

“Definitely. And I sure as hell don’t want it to be the last.”

Their lips met again, and they turned out the office light before falling asleep on the desk in one another’s arms.

 

* * *

 

The rumble of a car pulling up outside roused the lovers from their sleep; they hastily redressed before rushing out to meet Chris in the dining area. Kelsea’s truck could be seen through the window just arriving. 

“No sign of our boys in black this morning, so that’s good,” Chris reported. “You guys are free to go anytime,” he looked at his watch, “unless you’d like to stay for lunch?”

“As enticing as that sounds, we’d probably best be going,” Clarke said hurriedly, not particularly wanting to prolong the awkwardness of talking to Chris and Kelsea after their, er, questionable use of their boss’s desk. Lexa seemed to feel the same, and nodded fiercely in agreement.

“But seriously, thanks so much for everything,” she said earnestly. “Why are you doing this for us?”

“My mother worked with Clarke’s father at the Pentagon, years ago.” said Kelsea with a sigh. “He saved her life. It was before I was born, so I don’t know the whole story, but she told me enough. When I heard on the news that a Griffin kid had run away and was in possession of ‘sensitive information’, I figured she must’ve been one of Jake’s. Then you showed up here and I honestly don’t think Mum’d ever forgive me if I handed Jake Griffin’s daughter over to the authorities. You gotta get outta here and you gotta keep running. We need to have someone out there who knows the truth. I know y’all probably got your own plans on where to go, but when those plans run out…” She scrawled something on the back of a french-fry bag and pressed the note into Clarke’s palm with a firm handshake. She shook Lexa’s hand too. “Good luck.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, yeah.   
> That probably sucked, but I didn't feel I could end the year without at least trying to write a sex scene, just once.  
> Happy holidays again, and I've got a completely new work planned for the new year, so keep an eye out for that! :)


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